Lords of the Dead
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: It was in Stratholme where they had first crossed paths. It was in Northrend where they had last crossed blades. And it was in the Nexus when they were once again brought into confrontation...


**Purge**

Through the central road of the Towers of Doom, Invincible carried its rider.

Once, it had been a magnificent warhorse. Even now, that magnificence remained to an extent. Gone was muscle and flesh, replaced by gleaming bone, but even then, it served its purpose. Ice-blue fire emanated from its eyes, and its skeleton was still strong enough to carry its rider. One wearing heavy plate armour, with runeblade sheathed at his side. Neither horse nor rider conveyed any unease as they travelled to the city's central tower. Nor was any conveyed as Invincible came to a stop, standing in silence as its rider dismounted. Once, in another world, time, and life, it would have whined, signalling to its master that it wanted nothing more than to leave this place. But that was then. This was now. So all Invincible did was stand in silence, waiting for the order from its master.

Arthas was far less patient.

"Where the hell are you?" he whispered. He looked at the parchment of paper he carried, the one delivered to him by the Raven Lord. Or at least, a courier of the realm lord, but at the time, he had no reason to doubt its veracity, even though its brevity was most noticeable. Frowning behind his helm, he read it for the dozenth time.

 _Head to the Towers of Doom. Meet at the central tower when the moon is highest. One of my generals shall greet you._

He was at the base of the central tower (a giant monolith reaching up to the sky), and indeed, the full moon was now at its highest. He had done all the note requested of him. So now the question had to be asked whether he was early, whether his contact was late, or whether this was some attempt at humour or misdirection. He served Raven, for that was the way of the Nexus – all drawn into the storm had to serve one of the lords and masters of this place. But he didn't put it past the man to have a joke at one of his disciples' expense. Absolute power and an eternity to use it gave one the inclination and means to indulge in the odd joke after all.

 _Damn it, where are you?_

It wasn't just the general that was missing – it was as if the entirety of the Towers' populace was missing as well. Granted, the Raven Lord had only recently retaken it from the Grave Keeper, and it was midnight, so he wasn't expecting the burg to be overflowing with people. Yet even this late at night, he'd have expected to see someone, anyone, still out on the streets, whether it be with too much beer in their bellies, putting something in a woman's belly, or sleeping on the street as a beggar. From what he had seen of the other villages of Raven Court, poverty was as much a fact of life in this place as it had been in Lordaeron. Yet he had seen zero people out on the streets at all.

 _They sleep soundly then?_ Arthas wondered.

Sleep. He almost missed it. But as to where the people were, it was Invincible who sensed them first.

He heard his mount give a snort, one that betrayed its unease. That in turn made the former Lich King uneasy as well, for there shouldn't have been anything that should give Invincible fear. It was his undead servant, bound to his will – fear should have been impossible. His eyes turned to his horse, and his hand turned to his blade, as he too heard them – the shambling of limbs. The moans of the dead. The feeling of death closing in around him, again. He withdrew his blade and got into a defensive stance, years' worth of training at the hands of Uther not lost on him. Those years had been mostly spent on the use of a hammer, but he had mastered the way of the sword, long before Frostmourne mastered him. Before hundreds had fallen before the blade, feeding its eternall hunter So when he saw them, approaching from the gloom…he felt no fear. He remained in place. All that remained was to count their number, and plan his next action.

Zombies. Dozens of them, men, women, and children all. A chill was in the air, a breeze ran through it, and he could smell their rotting flesh – a smell he knew all too well, even before the Scourge. From the looks of them, they were only recently deceased.

 _So this is what happened to the people._

More and more of them emerged from the gloom, causing Arthas to back away towards Invincible, who was now making numerous snorts, making it clear that it sought to be gone from these creatures. He knew he could probably take them, knew that even if he fell here, death would be as nothing. But he had died once, at Icecrown, struck down as the armies of the Alliance and Horde closed in on him. It was the death that sent him to his place, and it was a death that taught him two things. First, never underestimate the enemy. Two, dying was a very unpleasant experience.

More and more of the creatures emerged from the gloom – all ages, both sexes, from all walks of life. Now united in undeath. The type of world Kel'Thuzad had sought to create, with him as the ruler of all in undeath. Only he was not the master of these creatures. They were closing on from all directions. He would have to cut a path through them, giving him enough time to mount his steed, then make a break for it. After that-

"Do you like them, young prince?"

He spun around to the source of the voice, sword pointed at his origin. He would have recognised that voice anywhere. And even now, after all these years, in this world where time meant so little, he would have still recognised the visage of the one who uttered it. The one who stood before him, emerging from the shadows.

"Mal'Ganis!"

The dreadlord chuckled. "It has been a long time, young prince. Too long."

Arthas grasped Frostmourne with both hands, pointing it at the dreadlord. Those blazing eyes, that pale flesh, those claws and wings like a creature of nightmare…Mal'Ganis was here. In the Nexus. Not fit with denying him victory at Northrend, it seemed that the universe intended to mock him further – not only with a demon out of distant, preferably forgotten memory, but dozens of undead as well.

"Oh, sorry."

Mal'Ganis raised a hand, forming a fist. Less than a second later, the zombies just stopped. Stopped moving, stopped groaning, stopped doing anything. They just stood there in place. Staring at the former Lich King with rotting eyes, barely attached to desiccated flesh.

"You…" Arthas cleared his throat. "You control these creatures?"

"I do, young prince. As it was in Stratholme, so it is here."

Arthas didn't say anything. Stratholme. The Plague of Undeath. Uther, Jaina, abandoning him. Steel and flame. The screams of the living as they begged for mercy. The moans of the undead. His vow at the end, to follow Mal'Ganis to the ends of the earth. Stratholme…everything had changed in Stratholme. Stratholme had been the point where Arthas, Crown Prince of Lordaeron, had begun to die, and Arthas, Lich King and Lord of the Scourge, had taken his first steps. And in the midst of it all, Mal'Ganis. The one who had sent him on the path to glory. The one whom he had slain in Northrend. The one who, even now, he could not look upon with anything other than hatred. Mal'Ganis had set him on the path, yet had been an agent of the Burning Legion. As Lich King, and servant of the Lich King before him, he had no reason to ally himself with the creature. As Arthas Menethil, First of His Name, Heir to the Throne of Lordaeron and Paladin of the Silver Hand, he had every reason to despise him. And yet…

 _No._

It couldn't be. Surely not. He…

"Are you…" Arthas lowered his blade, but did not sheathe it. "Are you the general the Raven Lord bid me meet?"

Mal'Ganis clapped his clawed hands. "Well done, young prince. I thought you would take longer to-"

"No."

Mal'Ganis frowned. "Sorry?"

"No," Arthas said.

"Did you deem yourself worthy to meet one of the Four? They have better things to do than meet with dethroned kings." Mal'Ganis's frown turned into a smirk. "Failure, believe it or not, does not carry merit here, young prince."

"And yet, here you stand," Arthas said. "The one who fell in Northrend. The one who failed the Legion again." Mal'Ganis opened his mouth to speak, but Arthas kept talking. "Yes, dreadlord, I have heard of what has happened on Azeroth since my departure. Of the Broken Shore. My reign has ended, but so has that of the Mad Titan." He smirked. "What rock did you crawl under before the Nexus brought you here?"

Mal'Ganis's wings spread out. The fires in his eyes burnt with the fury of the Nether, nay, Hell itself – demons were apparently not only a constant in his own universe. His claws, as black as the night sky, reached out and-

"And I would remind you that I am no longer a prince."

"…perhaps." Mal'Ganis folded his wings back in and regained some of his composure. "But nor are you king. Tell me, how does it feel to know that a usurper sits upon the Frozen Throne?"

Arthas said nothing – he had barely given Bolvar Fordragon any thought. As far as the people of Azeroth knew, there _was_ no Lich King. Here, in the Nexus, he was willing to indulge in that fantasy as well.

"No answer?" Mal'Ganis asked. "Well, it matters little. Both of us now have a new master, and he has bid me give you an army."

The tone of the Nathrezim's voice told Arthas that he wasn't happy about any of that, but how Mal'Ganis felt was the least of his concerns. Rather, it was the content of the words that interested him, as he looked around the dozens of zombies around him, still standing in silence.

"These creatures?" Arthas asked. "My army?"

"Ten-thousand all."

"Ten-thousand…" Arthas felt something. Almost like…pity? Disgust? Horror? He couldn't say, so he kept talking. "That would be the population of this entire city."

"Indeed."

"But this city…are you telling me…" He trailed off. He looked at Invincible, now standing in silence, quite at ease in being in the presence of the dead, and the lords that commanded them. He looked back at Mal'Ganis, who now wore the smile of the Devil.

"The Raven Lord retook the Towers from the Grave Keeper," he said. "But after his failure at Alterac, he now seeks to attack King's Crest directly. To do that, he needs an army." Mal'Ganis extended a hand outwards, gesturing to the walking corpses around him. "What better way than to use the dead against the living?"

"But these people…"

"Could he trust them, young prince? These people who, until recently, had their loyalties divided between one lord and another. No. The Raven Lord deemed them more valuable in life than death. And three days from now, they shall march under the banner of the Raven." His gaze darkened. "Under your command, _Lich King_."

Arthas's head was spinning. He felt like a child again – the child who was learning the ways of the world and having his innocence shattered in the process. "And you…did this for him?"

"As I helped facilitate the Plague of Undeath through your lands? Yes. Of course, this plague is different, brewed at the hands of Men rather than demons, but the results are much the same. The guilty weeded out. Ten-thousand to join the armies of the Raven Lord." Mal'Ganis smirked. "The orcs fail at Alterac, and now the undead must succeed them. Even here, history repeats itself."

Arthas said nothing. If history was repeating itself, this was where he should be attacking Mal'Ganis. These people meant nothing to him. But they were still the Raven Lord's subjects. Divided loyalties or not, they had still been among the living, even if death meant something different here.

He knew he should be overjoyed. He was no longer Lich King, but he was still a general of the Raven Lord. If what Mal'Ganis said was true, he would have his own army at his back. He would march into the lands of the living, raze their castles and slaughter their people, and he would reclaim a fraction of the glory he had once possessed as Lord of the Undead. And yet…

"You are troubled, young prince."

He said nothing – not even to correct the demon's terminology.

Mal'Ganis sighed. "This place has changed you."

Arthas stood tall. "I am the same as I ever was."

"Indeed? Is that why, at times, your hair becomes golden, your skin less sallow, and Frostmourne less fed?"

Arthas frowned. "Momentary deviations."

" _Deviations_ ," Mal'Ganis sneered. "The Lich King becomes the Golden Boy, in a bid to recapture youth and innocence, and calls them _deviations_." He began to walk over to Arthas, pacing around him like a wolf might a lamb. "I see now…small wonder you failed at Icecrown." He leant over, his breath on Arthas's skin like a furnace. "You were weak…and lords and kings must be strong…"

With a speed that bellied his armour, Arthas grabbed the Nathrezim by the neck. For but the shortest of seconds, something else blazed in Mal'Ganis's eyes – fear.

"You fell upon the snows of Northrend," Arthas whispered. "I brought the world to its knees while you cowered in the Nether. I am the Lich King, not a young prince of a forgotten kingdom. And when, three days from now, when the dead have overcome the living, and King's Crest is burnt to the ground, you will remember this moment Mal'Ganis. Remember, and curse the day you were entrusted to guide me to the roof of the world."

He let go of the demon's neck. Mal'Ganis looked ready to murder.

 _Good._

"We shall see, young prince," the demon whispered. "In three days' time, we shall see."

And with that, he disappeared, transforming into a flock of bats and soaring up into the sky. Bathed in the light of moon and star, soaring above an army of the dead. An army in the hands of the former Lich King…one who hesitated to use them. The king who looked into the eyes of his subjects, remembering the gazes of those in a city not unlike this one. The undead. The dying. The living, pleading for mercy…

 _With me._

The dead stood ready. Even unarmed, they were ready to be the soldiers of the Raven Lord.

 _March._

They did so, as their lord and master mounted Invincible. The one who gazed upon the army of the dead with a mix of pride and pity.

The one who rode off into the night, under the light of a full moon.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _So, Mal'Ganis has been confirmed as a hero. That's...pretty neat. I mean, if you asked me what my most requested_ Warcraft _hero up until recently, it would have been a dreadlord hero of some kind, and preferably either Mal'Ganis or Varimathras, so...yeah. On the other hand, HotS is no longer compatible with my version of Windows, so won't be able to play with Mal'Ganis for awhile. :(_

 _Anyway, drabbled this up._


End file.
